GIFT  OF 


&oul*  anil  <£>tf)cr 


AND    OTHER    POEMS 

BY 

GLENN  HUGHES 


MCMXVII 

PAUL   ELDER  AND  COMPANY 

SAN  FRANCISCO 


Copyright,  1917,  by 

PAUL  ELDER  AND  COMPANY 

SAN  FRANCISCO 


\ 


TO   MY  STEPMOTHER 

CORA   BROUGHTON  HUGHES 

WHO  FILLED  MY  CHILDHOOD  WITH  POETRY 

AND   WHOSE  LOVE  AND   PATIENCE 

HAVE  BEEN 
MIRACLES   IN  MY  LIFE 


3G8038 


Contents 


PAGE 

SOULS 3 

CARMEL  VALLEY — A  MEMORY 4 

MORNING  SONG 6 

THE  BURDEN  BEARER 7 

THE  ELEMENT  SHOP 8 

UNDERSTANDING  NEVER 10 

A  LAS  NOVIAS  TRISTES — CUENTO  DE  LABIOS  EN 

FLOR 11 

ROLES 14 

J'AI  CHERCHE  TRENTE  ANS,  MES  SOEURS    ...  15 

LA  FLUTE  AMERE  DE  L'AUTOMNE 16 

MONTEREY 17 

I  HAVE  GROWN  VERY  TIRED 18 

SNOW  FALLING 19 

PRAYER  OF  THE  AESTHETE 20 

ALL  MERRY  ARE  THE  LIGHTED  STREETS  CHRIST 
MAS  DAY 22 

BLACK  AND  WHITE 24 

REVOLT 25 

CONVICTION 26 

A  CONCEPTION 28 

TRANSFORMATION 30 

OVER  LUMMI   ,  31 


Content* 

PAGE 

ACROSS  THE  SEA 32 

ILLUSION 33 

I  HAVE  BUILDED  A  CITADEL 34 

SONG 36 

IN  ABSENCE 37 

SHIPS 38 

FROM  A  HIGH  HILL 40 

BY  THE  WAY 42 

SONG  IN  ABSENCE 44 

Hie  JACET 45 

INCIDENT 46 

SONNET  TO  SILENCE 48 

THE  PATH  OF  No  RETURNING 49 

THOU  TEMPTRESS,  MOON  ! 50 

THROUGH  MY  LATTICED  WINDOW 51 

LOOK,  LOVE,  UPON  THE  SEA 52 

THOUGHTS  ON  A  SPRING  NIGHT 54 

FIRE  OF  THE  DESERT 55 

SPRING  MORN 56 

A  TENT-LIGHT  ON  THE  DESERT 58 

THREE  KISSES 59 

LIKE  DEATH 60 

NIGHT  SONG                                   62 


VI 


feoul*  anb  ODtfjer  $)oem* 


' 


When  I  have  vanished  from  the  ranks  of  men 
And  joined  the  greater  caravan  ±  . 

That  treads  far  spaces, 
I  wonder,  O  Beloved  of  the  earth,  what  you 
will  be  to  me. 

I  think  I  shall  forget  the  rose — 
Dear,  delicate  brother  of  the  soil; 
I  think  I  shall  forget  the  sea — 
Grey,  wild  waste  of  mystery; 
I  think  I  shall  forget  the  fields — 
Wide,  warm  cradle  of  the  living; 
These  are  of  the  earth,  as  is  my  body. 

But  how,  Beloved,  when  1  join  the  caravan, 
Can  my  immortal  soul  forget  its  light, 
Transcendent  beauty  of  a  kindred  sort, 
Flaming  through  the  corridors  of  being 
Alive,  ever  alive! 

Spark  of  the  white,  imperishable  light 
Burning  in  the  hand  of  God  ? 

horrme  tsrfirr  tud  ^HOE  on  $im  i! 


iWornmg 

Awake!  awake! 

For  Dawn  has  scaled  the  battlements  of  Night 
And  lo!  the  East  is  glorified  with  light! 

Awake!  awake! 

Yo-ho !  yo-ho ! 

Come  o'er  the  sea— there  is  a  merry  gale! 
Come  o'er  the  land— wild  flowers  are  in  the 
vale! 

Yo-ho!  yo-ho! 

Ha-ha!  ha-ha! 

This  wine  of  life  is  ah !  so  sweet  to  sip ! 
That  Death  shall  find— a  smile  upon  my  lip! 

Ha-ha!  ha-ha! 


Durban  fearer 

You  ask  why  poets  seem  so  old  and  grave, 
And  why  their  forms  are  very  often  bent — 
Their  faces  furrowed,  eyes  deep  with  intent 
And  lights  that  speak  of  many  things  they 

crave 

And  cannot  find.  And  so  you  ask  what  gave 
These  strange  appearances — what  fires  God 

sent 
Through  human  mind  and  limb  that  could 

have  lent 
Outward  distortions  when  the  soul  was  brave. 

Ah,  have  you  seen  the  twisted  cypress  tree, 
Bearing  the  sorrows  of  a  thousand  years? 
The  poet  stands  upon  a  high,  bare  point, 
And,  like  the  cypress,  listens  to  the  sea — 
A  sea  made  out  of  myriad  human  tears, 
That  rise  about  him,  and  his  feet  anoint. 


Clement 


Have  you  ever  heard  tell  of  the  Element  Shop 
Away  out  where  the  West  and  the  East  both 
stop, 

And  the  old  world  knows  neither  bottom  nor 

top? 
Tis  a  wonderful  place  to  see; 

For  the  walls  of  the  Shop  are  the  great  Four 

Winds, 
With  a  pattern  of  lightning  that  flares  and 

blinds, 
And  the  ceiling  is  thunder  that  roars  and 

grinds, 
As  it  rolls  like  a  mad  sound-sea. 

And  the  rain  plays  tag  with  the  flashing 

sunbeams, 
And  the  snow  whirls  softly  beneath  the  moon's 

gleams, 
While  light  winds  are  passing  —  light  winds  of 

our  dreams— 
Wildly  happy  to  play  so  free. 


8 


In  the  Element  Shop  all  the  Elements  play, 
And  they  know  not  nor  care  to  know  Night 

from  Day, 
As  they  wait  the  summons  that  calls  them 

away — 
Tis  a  summons  they  cannot  flee. 

The  Gods  of  the  Universe  barter  and  sell, 
And  the  Elements  follow  their  biddings  well 
From  uppermost  Heaven  to  nethermost  Hell- 
And  the  Gods  chuckle  loud  with  glee. 

Ah !  the  Element  Shop  is  a  wonderful  shop, 
Away  out  where  the  West  and  the  East  both 

stop, 
And  the  old  world  knows  neither  bottom  nor 

top — 
But  alas!  only  God  can  see! 


fclnbrrstan&mg  jlrurr 

You  who  are  ever  sweeping  ahead  of  me, 
Tell  me — what  are  you  ? 

I  have  seen  you  in  the  form  of  fresh  flowers 

Waving  in  the  hill-wind. 

I  have  seen  you  rising  in  grey  folds,with  blue 

lustre  in  your  eyes,  and  a  red  flare  on 

your  lips, 

When  I  have  gazed  at  fire. 
I  have  seen  you  rocking  in  the  white  spray 

under  the  sun, 
When  I  have  looked  to  sea. 

And  ever,  waking  or  sleeping,  sorrowful  or 
mad  with  joy,  my  heart  sings  with  a 
music 

Made  for  you, 

And  which  I  can  never  understand. 


10 


a  Hag  Tobias  Cnstcs 

Cuento  de  Labios  en  Flor 
From  the  Spanish  of  Martinez  Sierra 

Haste!  for  the  servant  has  brought 

Shrouds  for  the  burial.  Lo! 
Petals  of  Jasmine  have  caught 
Snow-like  on  foliage,  and  naught 

Breathes  but  of  death  and  of  woe. 

Maker  of  Coffins,  prepare, 

Seek  in  the  forests  of  pine, 
Wood  filled  with  odors  so  rare, 
Breathing  of  Spring,  sweet  and  fair — 

Soft  for  the  dead  to  recline. 

Build  you  the  coffin  with  nails 
Molded  of  silver,  and  bright. 
Then  with  the  sound  of  the  flail 
Let  free  the  heart-piercing  wail, 
Prayer  to  the  Powers  of  the  Night. 

Late  in  the  night  do  you  creep 
Where  'neath  the  black  coffins'  top 

Both  of  the  dead  maidens  sleep; 

Pluck  from  the  sky's  bluest  deep, 
Stars — 'tween  their  lips  let  them  drop. 

11 


Call  back  the  maidens  in  dreams, 
Back  to  the  warm  April  morns, 
Back  to  the  golden  sun's  beams, 
Back  to  the  morning  dew's  gleams — 
Sounding  the  tabor  and  horns. 

Ah !  that  between  shrouds  so  drear, 

Beauteous  Virgins  should  lie! 
Maker  of  Coffins,  build  here 
Two  caskets,  rich-carved,  a  bier 
Fashioned  to  hold  the  most  high. 

Line  them  with  silk,  soft  and  fine — 
Both,  let  them  both  be  the  same; 

Each  is  of  Springtime  a  sign. 

Deck  them  with  jewels  that  shine — 
Splendor,  they  each  shall  proclaim. 

One  shall  be  carved  for  Rose, 

One  more  for  Blanche  shall  be  made; 
One  shall  be  white,  and  pale  rose, 
One  shall  be  white  as  the  snows, 

Rose-tinted — neither  shall  fade. 


12 


Caskets,  pink- white,  to  be  wrought. 

Builder  of  Coffins,  make  haste — 
Haste!  for  the  shrouds  have  been  brought, 
Petals  of  Jasmine  have  caught 

Snow-like  on  foliage — make  haste! 


13 


When  the  winds  blow  and  men  go 
Down  to  the  sea  and  out  on  the  sea  in 
ships, 

When  the  night  cries  with  its  blind  eyes 
And  a  moan  is  trembling  on  its  icy  lips, 

I  am  asking  in  my  own  heart 

What  is  my  part? 

For  there's  warmth  here,  and  there's  no  fear 
Of  the  waves'  slash  or  the  wild  wind  that 
comes  riding; 

In  a  white  light  there's  no  fright, 
And  in  a  city  house  there's  no  terror  hiding. 

That's  why  it's  hard  to  say: 

'Things  should  be  this  way." 


14 


3Tat  Clje rdje  Crentc  gins,  JHcs 

(I  Have  Searched  Thirty  Years,  My  Sisters) 
From  the  French  of  Maurice  Maeterlinck 

Thirty  years  have  I  searched,  sisters, 

Ah !  where  can  it  be  ? 
Thirty  years  have  I  searched,  sisters, 

Still  it  eludes  me. 

Thirty  years  have  I  marched,  sisters, 
Tired  my  feet,  and  sore. 

It  was  everywhere,  my  sisters, 
Now  it  is  no  more. 

That  sad  hour  has  come,  my  sisters, 

Lay  my  sandals  by — 
E'en  the  evening  dies,  my  sisters, 

Sick  at  heart  am  I. 

Thou  art  now  sixteen,  my  sisters, 

Follow  then  roads  new. 
Take  my  pilgrim  staff,  my  sisters, 

Go!  and  search  thou,  too. 


15 


Ha  Jf  lute  Slmere  be  H'&utomne 

(The  Sad  Flute  of  Autumn) 
From  the  French  of  Andre  Ferdinand  Herold 

The  sad  flute  of  the  autumn  wails 

Upon  the  dying  eve; 
The  wet  trees  shiver,  dead  leaves  fall — 

The  very  heavens  grieve. 

The  wild  flowers  droop  and  gently  die; 

The  birds  have  flown.  Alas! 
Where  can  another  April  sing 

Its  song  through  swaying  grass? 

And  you,  my  soul,  do  pass,  heart-sick, 

Forsaken  paths  along. 
You  seek,  alas !  pale  traveler, 

In  vain,  the  vanished  song. 

Ah,  love,  the  songs  which  charmed  us  once, 

In  autumn  ne'er  return — 
Yet  shall  I  not  see  those  eyes  laugh 

In  which  the  tears  now  burn? 


16 


jJMonterep 

ToJ.  E.  P. 

A  fishing  fleet  and  a  crooked  street, 

With  a  soldier  at  every  bar; 
A  'dobe  wall,  where  the  lizards  crawl, 

And  a  screechy,  wobbly  car. 

A  darksome  sky  with  the  fog  blown  high, 

And  a  quiet,  purple  bay; 
A  Spanish  song  as  we  passed  along — 

And  that  was  Monterey. 


17 


Proton  "^erp  Ctreb 

I  have  grown  very  tired 

Of  hearing  Right  and  Wrong  discussed 

And  disputed  and  modified 

And  discussed  again. 

So  I  have  made  up  my  mind 

To  talk  no  more  about  them 

And  to  listen 

To  Truth 

Which  is  within  me. 


18 


On  the  light  wind  from  the  great  North  is  the 

white  snow  riding,  riding, 
Silent  as  death,  and  sweet  as  virgin  love; 
Over  the  dark  earth,  where  hideous  things  lie 

sleeping, 
Flutters  the  stainless  garment  of  the  heaven. 

O  love  that  in  the  lilac-blooming  hours  of 

vagrant  summers 
Fell  dimly  star-like  through  the  gorgeous 

night, 

How  mercifully  white  and  cool-breathed  are 
thy  kisses, 

Falling,  falling,  trembling  in  their  imperishable 

beauty, 

Fluttering  on  the  light  wind  of  departing  years, 
Hovering  immaculate,  and  descending 
Softly,  sweetly,  ever  white  and  ever  caressing, 
Upon  my  bitter  heart,  where  sorrow  sleeps. 


19 


Draper  of  tfje 

Lord  God  who  taught  us  how  to  rise 

Above  dull  mediocrity, 
We  thank  Thee  for  the  whitened  skies 

That  none  but  us  can  ever  see. 

It  is  not  that  we  would  look  down 

In  mockery  on  all  the  rest, 
As  wise  man  contemplates  a  clown, 

With  sneer  that  kills  the  other's  jest. 

But  merely  this:  who  is  the  man 
That,  tasting  new  and  sweet  delights, 

Will  fail  to  pity  whom  he  can, 
And  glory  in  his  new-found  rights  ? 

Tis  seldom,  Lord,  that  in  this  life 
There  flashes  out  of  dreary  days 

A  joy  as  keen  as  any  knife 
To  cut  us  free  from  sodden  ways. 

But  sometimes  there  is  heard  a  song, 
Or,  say,  the  sun  has  kissed  the  hills; 

The  moon  gleams  white  and  lingers  long, 
Or  maddened  sea  its  hate  distils. 

20 


Whate'er  the  pleasure,  though  'tis  brief. 
The  ecstacy  is  worth  our  pain, 

One  joy  is  worth  a  world  of  grief; 
And  all  our  waiting  is  not  vain. 

Lord  God,  we  would  not  lose  our  power, 
Though  keener  suffering  is  its  price; 

We  are  content  to  have  our  hour 
Of  finer  joy — let  that  suffice. 

And  so  we  thank  Thee,  God  of  Light, 
Who  saves  from  mediocre  Hell; 

From  out  this  whirling  pit  of  night 
We  ask  one  thing:  to  live  life  well. 


21 


jfWerrp  are  tfje  Htgftteb  Streets 
Cfjrfetma*  Bap 

To  O.  E, 

All  merry  are  the  lighted  streets, 
Full-throated  is  the  song, 
And  the  song  is  a  carol. 

I  have  wondered  what  it  meant. 

I  have  looked  out  over  the  sea  when  the  mist 

was  upon  it, 

I  have  waited  in  the  streets  when  men  went  by, 
I  have  stared  at  the  moon  when  it  hung  like  a 

Chinese  lantern 
And  crinkled  in  the  water  between  itself  and 

me; 

I  have  seen  the  first  snow, 
And  felt  its  white  hand  of  beauty  on  my  brow. 

I  have  seen  dull  faces 

And  dull  eyes, 

And  heard  dull  voices; 

But  they  have  changed. 

And  I  know  why  most  of  them  have 

changed — 
It  is  because  work  is  over, 


22 


And  there  are  things  waiting  to  be  eaten. 
They  are  right  to  be  happy. 

But  I,  and  others — few  others  and  therefore 

the  wisest — 

Have  drawn  another  conclusion. 
Here  it  is: 

Pity  has  lighted  another  candle 
(Love  is  the  flame) 
Along  the  road, 

And  though  we  know  the  road  has  no  end, 
We  follow  it — because  it  has  no  end. 
And  our  eyes  flash  into  the  dark, 
As  though  we  desired  to  behold  Truth 
Naked,  and  all  at  once. 
We  know  that  it  would  strike  us  blind,  yea, 

obliterate  us! 

But  the  candle  illuminates  another  hill, 
And  the  road  climbs  up  its  side  into  the  dark. 
We  follow! 
It  is  our  inheritance ! 
We  know  that  there  are  candles  to  be  lighted 

on  ahead! 


23 


piacfe  anb 

A  crow  and  a  dove  sat  on  the  selfsame  tree. 

"Caw!"  said  the  crow. 

"Coo!"  said  the  dove. 

Now  the  crow  was  all  disheveled:  he  had  been 

pelted 

With  rocks  and  divers  missiles  hurled  in  anger, 
Not  so  the  dove; 

He  sat  serene:  perhaps  he  contemplated 
On  a  dove-like  heaven,  or  else 
A  crow-like  hell. 

"Damnation!"  cawed  the  crow.  "This  is  your 

fault! 

If  you  had  never  existed 
With  your  whiteness  and  serenity 
The  world  would  never  have  known 
That  I  was  black,  and  a  nuisance." 

"Coo-o-o!"  said  the  dove. 


24 


ftebolt 

Grey, 

Dull,  pallid,  overhanging  dreariness, 

Bathing  the  room  in  a  colorless  desolation 

Like  the  hue  of  a  sickly,  burnt-out  soul. 

Steam, 

Hissing  thinly,  maliciously, 

Like  the  gossip  of  sharp-nosed  women 

Who  sit  in  their  prim  parlors. 

Nothing  else — 

Oh,  yes! 

Click-clack,  click-clack,  click-clack,  click-clack, 

From  the  nickel-plated  clock  in  the  far 

corner — 

It  seems  to  have  grown  into  the  room, 
It  is  hard  to  be  conscious  of  its  flat,  metallic 

melody. 

Great  God  land  this  is  life! 
Life  which  I  shall  never  live  again ! 
Let  me  out!  let  me  out! 
Somewhere  I  shall  find  a  flash  of  sunlight,  or  a 

wild  sweep  of  wind  over  a  hill, 
Or  a  maiden  smiling. 


25 


Contortion 

I  am  my  own  religion;  you  are  yours. 

Whatever  gods  we  have  we  each  have  made, 
And  he  who  says  to  you,  "Accept  my  god!" 

Has  said,  "Accept  me!"  Thus  is  truth 
betrayed. 

And  ever  do  men  follow  in  the  dark, 
Burning  a  sacrifice  to  one  before; 

As  though  the  past  could  hold  eternity, 
And  future  hold  no  wisdom  in  its  store. 

The  present  pulls,  insistent,  at  our  minds, 
And  crushes  if  we  heed  her  not  at  all; 

But  what  is  she  beside  infinity? 
A  star  that  trembles,  waiting  but  to  fall. 

And  who  am  I  to  shape  your  destiny? 

Alas,  it  seems  men  turn  to  gods,  these  days. 
Solicitous  god-fathers,  shaping  souls; 

And  pointing  out  the  errors  of  our  ways! 


26 


Small  wonder  that  in  all  the  long-dead  years, 
The  path  of  life  was  lit  by  countless  fires! 

Fires  fed  by  bodies  of  the  men  who  knew, 
And  laughed  aloud  from  sacrificial  pyres. 

I  am  my  own  religion ;  you  are  yours. 

Whatever  gods  we  have  we  each  have  made, 
And  fear  not !  When  eternity  revolves, 

Be  not  of  any  other's  god  afraid. 


27 


31  Conception 

The  things  we  should  have  done  and  did  not  do 
Array  themselves  like  ghosts  before  our 
eyes. 

And  every  morn  that  starts  our  life  anew 
Brings  on  new  ghosts  to  take  us  by  surprise. 

What  shall  we  say  ?  What  is  there  to  be  said  ? 

We  understood,  and  yet  we  did  not  act. 
Shall  we  but  hang  a  humble,  contrite  head, 

And  pray  for  mercy  to  the  All-wise  Fact  ? 

Or  shall  we  throw  regrets  upon  the  wind, 
And  face  the  future  with  a  new-born  sight  ? 

Condemn  the  dusty  past,  and  try  to  find 
A  new  eternity  in  every  night  ? 

This  much  we  know:  the  soul  is  like  a  star, 
And  is  not  made  and  unmade  in  an  hour; 

But  stands  against  the  winds  that  blast  and 

scar, 
Like  some  divine,  imperishable  flower. 


28 


The  things  we  might  have  done  and  did  not  do 
Passed  like  the  winds  that  blew  from  out  the 

Space; 

And  lo !  our  souls  that  are  no  longer  new 
Turn  forward  each  a  strong  and  starlike 
face! 


29 


transformation 

Great  God !  was  ever  aught  more  fair 
Than  the  virgin  moon  asleep  in  the  tranquil 
heavens  ? 

From  the  harsh  and  troublous  day 
With  its  noises  and  its  glamour 
And  its  surge  of  human  discord, 
I  escape  to  thee, 
Mirror  of  my  radiant  soul, 
And  once  more, 
As  if  by  a  divine  miracle, 
I  am  made  clean  and  holy  and  at  peace  with  all 
things. 


30 


©bet  Hummt 

The  sjeps  of  Night  quicken, 

The  wind  stills  to  a  faint  breath — 

Cool  from  the  high  snow  crevices  of  distant 

hills; 

Over  the  sea, 
Where  through  the  day  the  grey  and  purple 

shadows  have  been  dancing, 
Comes  a  slow  and  soft-toned  pink, 
Flooding  the  waters 
With  its  strange  and  delicate  blushes, 
Till  they  push  upon  the  land, 
And  the  slapping  wavelets  turn  them  back, 
Piling  them  on  each  other 
In  rippling  confusion. 

See !  up  over  the  waves, 

Out,  far  out  through  the  hovering  mist  of 

evening, 

Flaring  like  a  wound  in  the  breast  of  heaven, 
Crimson  and  gold,  and  dripping  streams  of 

light 

On  the  jagged  and  darkening  island, 
The  Sun  cries,  "Hail!  Farewell!" 


31 


tfje 

In  the  wild  rairi  and  the  hot,  pulsating  sunlight 

Of  a  southern  island  that  is  strange  to  me, 

You  sit,  you  girl  with  eager  eyes, 

And  I  remember 

That  all  your  dreams  were  woven  of  fine  stuff, 

Brocaded  things  that  startled  with  their  beauty, 

But  here  in  the  far  north, 

Where  grey  is  eternally  on  the  land  and  on  the 

sea, 

I,  too,  have  woven  dreams  not  unlike  yours; 
And  I  am  lifted  up, 
Burning  with  a  new  flame, 
Inwardly  exalted  to  a  high  heaven  of 

understanding, 

To  know  that  space  is  nothing, 
And  that  dreams  are  everything! 


32 


I  saw  a  star  break  through  the  evening  sky, 
And  as  it  split  the  bowl  of  blue  it  said: 
"Lo!  night  is  come!" 

I  turned  to  where  thou  stood'st  beside  me 

watching, 

And  looked  within  thine  eyes; 
And  then  I  said: 
"Beloved,  the  star  spake  a  lie, 
For  behold!  I  see  the  day!" 


33 


3  $Mbe  Putlbeb  a  Cttabel 


I  have  builded  a  citadel  round  my  heart; 
Through  the  years  of  my  youth  eagerly  have  I 

builded, 

And  the  citadel  is  of  dreams, 
And  therefore  strong. 

Now  at  last  I  am  sitting  alone  with  the  towers 

and  minarets 

Pricking  the  sky  of  my  fancy. 
A  cloud  passes  ...... 

Hark!  what  is  that  at  the  gates? 

It  is  not  a  clatter;  it  is  not  a  booming;  nor  is  it 

aught  that  I  have  ever  heard  before  ! 
I  thought  at  first  it  was  music, 
And  then  a  wave  of  perfume, 
Or  the  fluttering  of  leaves 
In  a  midnight  wind. 
But  the  towers  tremble, 
And  the  lights  in  the  minarets  are  shaken  — 
A  star  falls.  . 


34 


Now  I  can  hear  it ! 

There  are  footsteps  on  the  marble  staircase, 

Drawing  nearer,  nearer;  they  have  almost 

reached  me — 
I  am  struck  blind  with  an  exalted  fear,  a 

divine  grief! 
Beloved ! 
The  citadel  is  falling It  is  sacred  dust  at 

our  feet! 

We  will  gather  it  up  in  our  bare  hands 
And  build  an  altar  to  Truth. 


35 


Whenever  I  have  seen  a  flower 

Kissed  with  summer  dew 
I've  known  that  it  was  by  God's  power 

The  tender  blossom  grew. 

Whenever  stars  burst  through  the  night 

All  radiant  and  divine 
I  knew  that  God  gave  them  their  light 

And  bade  them  sweetly  shine. 

And  now  at  last  my  soul  has  learned 
The  thing  of  all  most  true — 

Ah,  deep  within  my  heart  'tis  burned, 
That  God  made  you,  made  you ! 


36 


3n  Absence 

Tonight  there  rose  a  star  so  fair 

Across  the  misty  sea; 
And  as  I  watched  it  burning  there 

Behold!  I  gazed  at  thee! 

Each  night  I  shall  with  eager  eyes 
Seek  out  thy  blessed  face; 

And  lo !  within  my  heart  shall  rise 
Peace — and  an  untold  grace! 


37 


The  ships  that  are  Alaska-bound 
Ride  bravely  forth  against  the  sky, 

And  we  who  watch  along  the  Sound 
And  lift  our  eyes  when  they  go  by 
Can  only  stand  and  gaze  and  sigh. 

At  dawn  when  all  the  sea  is  grey, 

A  phantom  ship  slides  through  the  mist; 

And  to  the  northward  cuts  her  way, 
As  if  to  keep  a  ghostly  tryst, 
With  some  far  sea  that  she  has  kissed. 

At  midday  when  the  sun  is  lord, 
A  gleaming  ship  drives  through  the  deep; 

Her  prow  is  like  a  curved  sword, 
Slashing  the  sea  with  every  leap, 
And  winning  north  with  valiant  sweep. 

At  twilight  when  the  sky  is  red, 
A  ship  of  flame,  so  strange  and  pale, 

Like  some  poor  wand'ring  cloud  that  fled 
The  blazing  sun,  with  drooping  sail 
Lies  calm,  forlorn,  in  night's  silk  veil. 


38 


When  moonlight  glimmers  on  the  land, 
And  dances  on  the  silent  sea, 

A  ship,  drawn  by  the  night-wind's  hand, 
Glides  like  a  spirit-shape  set  free 
On  through  a  dim  eternity. 

The  ships  that  are  Alaska-bound 
Ride  bravely  forth  against  the  sky, 

And  we  who  watch  along  the  Sound 
May  never  know  until  we  die 
Aught  else  of  these  ships  passing  by. 


39 


Jfrom  a  Jfyigb 

From  this  high  hill  above  the  city's  heart 

The  day  dies  splendidly. 
No  wrack  or  anguish  sees  the  light  depart, 

But  peace,  from  off  the  sea. 

Far  down,  long  towers  of  smoke  lean  with  the 
wind, 

Above  the  huddled  shops; 
The  sun,  blood-orange,  glimmers  dim  behind, 

And  paints  the  high  hilltops. 

The  night  that  gathers  thus,  silent  and  swift, 

Seems  not  of  day  the  foe; 
But  rather  some  dark  mistress  come  to  lift 

Day  out  of  human  woe. 

Sweet-lipped  and  dreamy-eyed  she  hovers 
down, 

Her  hair  in  fragrant  folds; 
And  in  the  fluttering  rapture  of  her  gown, 

The  pallid  stars  she  holds. 


40 


Red  sun,  and  whiter  light  upon  the  land, 

She  wraps  within  her  arms; 
And  lo !  the  very  softness  of  her  hand 

Stills  all  the  world's  alarms. 


41 


ttje 

Five  fingers  of  a  maple  leaf, 
All  red  and  green  and  brown; 

Upturned  beside  the  clean-swept  path, 
That  runs  beyond  the  town. 

Think  not  I  do  not  see  thee  there, 

Nor  understand  thy  call; 
I  know  full  well  thine  every  word — 

My  heart,  it  keeps  them  all. 

I  hear  thee  say,  "Forsake  thy  toil 

And  come  with  me  away, 
To  where  the  Autumn  holds  her  court, 

And  paints  a  brilliant  day. 

"Where  curtains  are  of  shining  red, 

And  carpets  are  of  gold; 
Where  sun  and  mist  woo  every  hill, 

And  fragrance  fills  the  wold. 

"Where  not  a  human  voice  is  heard, 

Nor  any  plaint  of  woe; 
No  soul  cries  out  against  the  night, 

Nor  arm  strikes  down  a  foe. 

42 


"But  one  thing  speaks — it  is  a  wind, 
That  blows  from  heaven's  gate; 

And  all  it  says  is  this  one  song: 
'Come,  ere  it  is  too  late!'  " 

Five  fingers  of  a  maple  leaf, 
All  red  and  green  and  brown — 

A  kindly  hand  upturned  to  me, 
To  lead  me  from  the  town. 

I  would  with  all  my  yearning  heart 
That  I  might  heed  thy  call; 

But  I  must  pass  thee  rudely  by, 
And  seek  a  dreary  hall. 


43 


in 


When  falls  the  dusk  of  discontent, 
And  the  long  hours  flare  and  fade 

Like  dim  and  distant  candle-lights 
The  wind  has  made  afraid  — 

What  shall  I  then  seek,O  my  love? 

Shall  it  be  the  cool  of  the  western  wind, 
Or  the  sea,  with  its  heavy  breath  ? 

The  red,  mad  dance  of  the  sodden  soul, 
Or  the  soft,  white  sleep  of  death  ? 

For  these  kill  discontent,  my  love. 

Nay,  not  for  me  shall  these  things  serve, 
Though  earth  grow  black  as  doom. 

For  I  shall  sit  here  quietly 
And  see,  beyond  the  gloom, 

Thy  face's  rapture,  O  my  love. 


44 


Behold  this  purple  evening  by  the  sea! 

With  far  and  misty  moonlight  streaming 

through; 
And  western  wind  that  carries  light  and  free 

The  fragrance  of  the  summer  evening's  dew, 

Ah,  cherished  hopes  that  fade  out  with  the 

stars, 
And  make  our  dreams  the  vague,  uncertain 

lights 

We  live  by,  hold  but  for  this  hour  the  bars 
That  change  our  brilliant  dream-morns  into 
nights ! 

Be  with  us  yet,  ye  moons  that  pierce  the  dark, 
And  cross  the  purple  shadows  of  our  days! 

For  wide  the  sea  is  where  we  must  embark, 
And  few  the  lights  that  cheer  us  on  our 
ways. 

Too  soon  some  purple  evening  by  the  sea 
With  far  and  misty  moonlight  streaming 

through 

Will  find  us  where  the  west  wind  loves  to  be, 
And  we  shall  be — but  summer  evening's 
dew! 

45 


3  unbent 

A  clatter  in  the  narrow  court, 
The  ambulance  engine's  throb; 

Then  footsteps,  orders — low  and  short — 
The  turning  of  a  knob, 

And  something  to  support. 

Four  men  in  white — such  noiseless  men- 
Bear  swiftly  through  the  door 

The  Thing  that's  covered.  Quickly  then 
More  figures  join  the  four — 

The  Thing  moves  on  again. 

They  lay  it  on  a  marble  space, 

Within  four  whitened  walls; 
And  then  they  bare  the  covered  face, 

And  lo !  about  it  falls 
A  mass  of  golden  lace. 

It  is  not  hair — the  kind  we  know — 

It  falls  in  folds  of  light, 
Like  clouds  star-flecked  that  westward  go 

With  coming  of  the  night — 
All  red  and  gold  they  glow. 


46 


White  marble  is  the  table-top, 

And  red-gold  is  her  hair; 
And  in  a  stream  that  will  not  stop 

Red  blood  runs  down  her  hair, 
And  stains  the  marble  top. 

The  white  men  gather  close  around, 
And  touch  her  thin,  white  hands, 

That  lie  across  her  breast,  close-bound 
With  long  and  golden  bands 

Of  hair  that  they  unwound. 

One  cheek  lies  bare  beneath  the  hair, 

No  more  than  this  revealed; 
And  pale  with  Death  this  cheek— and  fair! 

What  secret  Death  concealed 
Will  hide  forever  there. 


47 


Bonnet  to  Silence 

Silence  is  sweeter  far  than  any  sound, 
And  dearer  than  the  words  we  blunder  o'er. 
What  nameless  peace  we  draw  from  out  its 

store ! 

What  ecstacy  that  speech  has  never  found ! 
And  often  in  such  silence  I  have  wound, 
With  blessed  reverence  unknown  before, 
Thy  hair  about  my  face — loving  thee  more 
Than  any  king  his  queen  whom  he  has 

crowned. 

So  silence  is,  and  we  who  know  its  charm 
Shall  seek  within  its  rapture-halls  for  peace 
And  unmarred  love  that  heeds  not  time  nor 

place — 

The  silence-world  where  fear  and  loud  alarm 
Of  living,  fighting,  failing,  ever  cease — 
And  I  shall  wind  thy  hair  about  my  face. 


48 


of  flo  Returning 

The  sun  has  laid  a  path  of  gold 
Across  the  sober  stretch  of  sea, 

And  if  one  walks  that  path,  I'm  told, 
He  is  forevermore  set  free. 

No  cry  of  pain  can  follow  him, 
Nor  can  his  weary  eyes  look  back; 

The  years  behind  grow  far  and  dim — 
He  sees  naught  but  the  golden  track. 

Where  does  it  lead  ?   Not  one  can  tell ; 

But  this  much  we  can  know  is  true: 
That  he  who  follows  long  and  well 

Does  not  come  back  to  me  and  you ! 


49 


JTfoou  Crmptress,  itloon! 

Thou  Temptress,  Moon,  so  pale  across  the  sea, 
With  silver,  gleaming  arms  outstretched  to  me, 

While  we  two  walk  abroad  this  summer 
night! 

Ah,  Lovely  Mistress  of  the  Land  of  Light, 
Thou  canst  not  draw  me  from  the  lips  of  one 
Whose  very  presence  thou  indeed  shouldst 
shun 

For  shame  and  envy  to  be  thus  excelled. 

These  many  nights  have  she  and  I  beheld 
Thy  lonely  splendor  from  this  self-same 

shore — 
Thy  radiance  mantling  her  whom  I  adore, 

And  blending  lips  and  eyes  and  tangled  hair 

Into  a  lovely  and  a  fragrant  snare 
For  such  a  heart  as  mine.  So,  Temptress  pale, 
Thy  beauty  is  not  all  without  avail. 

We  leave  thee  thus — thy  gleaming  arms 
still  spread 

Across  the  sea,  thy  gently  drooping  head 
Soft-cushioned  in  the  blankets  of  the  sky — 
But  we  shall  see  thee  more — My  Love  and  I. 


50 


jfWp  Hatttceb 

My  latticed  window  opens  on  the  street, 
And  when  night  closes  in  upon  the  day, 

I  listen  at  my  window  for  the  feet 
Of  one  who  climbs  the  hill  to  pass  this  way. 

And,  waiting  here,  I  catch  the  lilac's  smell, 
And  hear  the  rolling  melody  of  surf — 

The  pines  above  the  house  have  cast  their  spell 
In  lengthening  shadows  on  the  wild-grown 
turf. 

Dear  Heart,  the  day  has  not  been  all  misspent 
If  you  but  keep  the  promise  of  your  eyes 

And  follow  here  the  lilac's  magic  scent 
To  take  my  latticed  window  by  surprise. 


51 


Hoofe,  Hofae,  upon  tlje 

Look,  Love,  upon  the  sea — 

The  ripples,  moonlit  from  the  brow  of  heaven, 

The  high  and  lighted  places  through  yon  tree, 

Where  holy  whiteness  hangs, 

And  there  is  no  discord ! 

One  solemn  breath  that  lingers  as  a  sigh 

From  lips  half  parted — spoke  to  one  adored — 

A  sigh,  and  that  is  all. 

Yet,  Love,  beyond  the  sea, 

Beyond  the  whitened  ripples  and  the  light, 

Where  such  a  night  as  this  can  never  be, 

Are  dark,  eternal  woes ! 

Are  far  and  misty  places! 

Where  cold  unloveliness  sojourns,  and  love 

Is  stranger.  See,  the  hideous,  mist-blown  faces 

Look  out  upon  us  now! 


52 


Love,  let  us  leave  the  sea — 

Leave  far  behind  the  agony  of  sin, 

From  deathlike  visions  of  the  cold  mist  flee 

And  seek  the  high  hills'  peace, 

The  tall  pines'  quietness! 

It  is  a  darksome  world — beyond  this  place— 

And  lest  the  one  of  us  should  love  the  less, 

Come !  Let  us  leave  the  sea ! 


53 


on  a  Spring 

Light  air  of  the  spring-born  night, 
Smoke-haze  of  the  softening  light, 
And  the  day  gives  up  its  strength. 
Shops  darken — doors  swing  to; 
Footsteps  dwindle  to  a  few, 
And  I  walk  the  dim  street's  length. 

Yellow-blue  and  yellow-grey — 
These  are  the  dying  tints  of  day. 
Misty-dim  are  the  city's  lamps — 
Misty-dim  from  the  mellow  damps, 
And  down  the  dim  and  yellow  way 
I  pass. 

Beloved,  if  thou  were  but  here ! 

The  mist-dimmed  night  would  then  grow  clear, 

The  unnamed  stars,  love-born,  would  shine, 

And  this  dull  air  become  rich  wine 

To  drown  ourselves  in !  ...  Ah,  a  tear, 

Instead. 


54 


jftre  of  tfje  25e*ert 

The  sun  set  red  tonight ! 
And  oh,  if  thou  had  stood 
With  me  beneath  that  light 
Which  flamed  above  the  sand, 
Thou  could  have  understood 
Things  I  now  understand — 
The  sun  set  red  tonight! 

The  sun  set  red  tonight ! 
And  all  the  purple  mist — 
That  mist  of  our  delight — 
Grew  rose-red  on  the  hills, 
And  all  the  clouds  were  kissed 
And  made  red  as  the  hills — 
The  sun  set  red  tonight ! 

The  sun  set  red  tonight ! 
And  as  I  saw  the  world 
Flame  red  beneath  the  light 
I  saw  two  hearts  of  youth 
Blend  rose-red  with  the  world — 
The  rose-red  world  of  youth — 
The  sun  set  red  tonight ! 

55 


Spring  fHorn 

Out  of  the  East,  grown  grey, 

Silently,  Dawn  was  born. 
Out  of  the  Dawn  grew  Day, 

Blossoming  into  Morn. 

Lo!  as  the  young  Morn  breathed, 
All  of  the  sweet  flowers  woke, 

Shaking  the  perfumed  dew 
Loose  from  their  velvet  cloak. 

Petals  of  peach-bloom  fell 

Fluttering  on  the  wings, 
Light  wings  of  East-blown  winds — 

Winds  that  the  warm  Dawn  brings. 

So,  as  the  young  Morn  came, 
Flower-folk,  passion-wrung, 

Loving  too  much,  drooped  low, 
Quivered,  then  fell,  far-flung. 

E'en  so  did  my  full  heart — 
Gift  of  the  budding  Spring — 

Open  to  welcome  Morn, 
Of  him  did  my  soul  sing. 

56 


My  heart — as  fallen  flowers — 
When  the  Morn's  soft  breath  came 

Laden  with  drowsy  love, 
Withered  from  love's  own  flame. 

Out  of  the  West,  grown  grey, 

Silently,  Night  was  born. 
Night,  he  who  brings  the  Day, 

Blossoming  into  Morn. 


57 


&  ®ent=Itsf)t  on  tfje  Beiert 

Desert  night !  and  all  the  red 
And  gold  of  desert  day  has  fled, 
Leaving  the  sands — 
Those  changing  sands — 
As  cold  and  dreary  as  the  dead, 
In  desert  night. 

Solitude!  not  e'en  the  wind 

Dares  break  the  desert  spells  which  bind 

The  silent  sands — 

Night,  desert  sands — 

And  in  them  shall  I  never  find 

But  solitude? 

Thy  tent-light !  ah,  there  it  gleams 
Afar  in  desert  night,  its  beams 
Thrown  o'er  the  sands — 
Night,  desert  sands — 
Beloved,  I  shall  seek  in  dreams 
Thy  far  tent-light! 


58 


QTfjree  &i**e* 

Three  kisses  are  to  each  man  given, 

Three,  and  only  three. 
Each  kiss  is  one  third  part  of  heaven; 

The  soul  is  but  these  three. 

The  first  is  at  the  mother's  breast, 

The  kiss  of  birth; 
The  second  is  love's  kiss,  the  best, 

(We  know  love's  worth) ; 
The  third  is  death's  kiss,  white  and  blest, 

Farewell  to  earth. 


59 


Hike  39eatfj 

Sometimes  when  I  have  looked  upon  the  sea, 
In  moonlight,  or  beneath  the  brighter  sun, 
I  have  been  moved  to  say,  "That  is  like 

Death/1 

An  endless,  governed  restlessness  of  waves, 
Lapping  the  myriad  sands  of  unknown  shores, 
And  yet  a  heavy  liquid  peace  within, 
A  strong,  strange  bosom  of  eternity. 

Sometimes,  too,  I  have  looked  upon  the  land, 
When  miracles  of  seed  have  hailed  the  spring, 
And  then,  too,  have  I  said,  "That  is  like 

Death." 

A  bursting  from  the  embryo  of  Life, 
Into  the  fulness  of  a  thousand  fruits, 
The  radiant  flowering  of  the  obscure  spark 
Into  a  world  of  God-like  magnitude. 


60 


Again,  I  have  looked  straight  into  the  sun, 
And,  blinded  by  its  universal  light, 
I  have  said  to  myself,  "That  is  like  Death." 
A  space  which  body  never  can  traverse, 
A  vast,  exultant  rhythm,  and  a  warmth 
Which  clutches  at  the  soul,  and  draws  it  in, 
Uniting  it  forever  with  its  fire. 


61 


I  am  braiding  my  hair  in  the  dark,  O  my  love, 
And  the  touch  of  my  hands  on  the  sweet- 
smelling  strands 
Sings  a  song  in  the  dark,  O  my  love. 

There's  a  wind,  a  wild  wind,  on  the  sea,  O  my 

love, 
And  a  storm  on  the  hill,that  I  fear  may  blow 

ill- 
Ill  to  you  and  to  me,  O  my  love. 

I  am  ever  afraid  when  I  wait,  O  my  love, 
And  I  turn  down  the  light,  for  my  eyes  they 

are  bright — 
Oh,  so  bright  when  I  wait,  O  my  love. 

I  have  let  down  my  hair,  soft  and  sweet,  O  my 

love, 
And  it  covers  me  well,  like  a  shield  from  a 

spell, 
And  it  kisses  my  feet,  O  my  love. 


62 


I  am  braiding  it  now  in  two  strands,  O  my 

love, 
And  I  pray  that  this  night  it  may  wind  itself 

tight 
O'er  your  face  and  your  hands,  O  my  love. 


63 


HERE,  THEN,  END  THE  VERSES  OF  DREAMS, 
YEARNINGS  AND  JOYS  OF  LIFE  HY  GLENN 
HUGHES  ENTITLED  SOULS,  PRINTED  ON 
TUSCANY  HANDMADE  PAPER  AND  MADE  INTO 
A  BOOK  BY  PAUL  ELDER  AND  COMPANY  AT 
THEIR  TOMOYE  PRESS  IN  THE  CITY  OF  SAN 
FRANCISCO,  UNDER  THE  CAREFUL  DIRECTION 
OF  RICARDO  J.  OROZCO,  IN  THE  MONTH  OF 
OCTOBER,  NINETEEN  HUNDRED  SEVENTEEN 


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